


locked in.

by RosalinesRussianRoseElixir



Series: imprint. [1]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, I'm Sorry, Implied Kidnapping, Minor Choking, No Smut, SO, but hes not really mean, fuckhands mcmike - Freeform, local serial killer refrains from killing, michael isnt nice, reader is panicking, the big man - Freeform, the night HE came to your house for no reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21305450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalinesRussianRoseElixir/pseuds/RosalinesRussianRoseElixir
Summary: You don't want to think about it. How hard you're breathing. How much you hope that his hearing isn't so great in that mask. How much you wished, no matter how cruel, that he had entered someone else's house. Maybe the neighbors had a gun. A well placed baseball bat. You didn't. And it was too late. He had chosen this house. No matter how indeliberate or random the choice. It was still you.(fixed minor spelling mistakes on this steaming pile of sweaty garbage)
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Series: imprint. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684477
Comments: 6
Kudos: 130





	locked in.

**Author's Note:**

> The tags aren't working for me here on Mobile, so hello all! Welcome to my first slasher fic. This is about one of my all-time faves Michael Myers and is a halloweenie surprise for a friend. We both love how BIG he is. Leave kudos and comments if you are interested in reading more things like this for some other slashers! 
> 
> Edit, umm I reviewed this on a laptop, so I've fixed and added some crappy tags, let me know if you want to add any. Though Mikey is in dbd, this does not really follow any dbd standards neither does it follow any specific movie timelines so feel free to imagine your fav version of him. If you too appreciate how BIG he and other slashers are, feel free to send me some cool stuff or prompt ideas so I can fulfill your dreams of Jason getting stuck in your doorway because he's too tall and wide. The poor guy.

The sun offered its blistering warmth that fell gently, swayed by the autumn breeze that afternoon, which moved the leaves in their races across the porch, tumbling and piling up in the corners. The day had progressed normally. Like any other day that passed before it; inconsequential and in no way seemed to affect your life specifically, Halloween being of no special importance. The cover of night time seemed to change that air of normality. The sun fell into the ground as slow as always and came all too quickly. If you had known what awaited you in the silver night that shrouded the windows and darkened the doorways, you would have vehemently begged for the sun to stay. For Halloween night to never come. 

_

Television noise filtered through, duly registered, and in large part ignored due to the hesitant call of school work. 

A heavy sigh pushed through your lips, and after that, the pervasive silence that blared after the break of a long time spent focusing. Fall weather chill came from the open window overlooking the yard above your desk, workspace cast in the sparse light of the small lamp, kept there for your neverending school work. 

Silence prevailing over the house, besides a static-y television, you realized that your parents must have left for that stupid Halloween party. The one at your parents' job that offered the free alcohol and tepid conversation that careened in circles. 'How are you doing?' s exchanged, launching into an awkward silence before someone hopefully picks a good joke or something cheesy. All of the couples' costumes explanation nightmares. Every horrible attempt at socialization a broken record that played the same section over and over… The schoolwork was better. 

"Again, the town of Haddonfield, Illinois is plunged into another horrible Halloween-" the finger over the button put a quick end to the reporters nonsense as you rubbed at your eyes. 10:24 p.m. Not so bad, a few good hours of working afforded you some rest from your class discussion notes. The doorbell startled you after the white noise of 10 o'clock news stopped filling the room. Giggles and quiet chatter came from the front door. Oh, yeah. It was Halloween and the children were out on the hunt for candy. You almost forgot kids do that. 

"Trick or Treat!” a group of kids no older than 9 accompanied by two watchful mothers held bags open, ready to receive the gift of sugar.

"Here you guys go," you said, with as best a smile you could offer the children at her door. "Happy Halloween." they ran back to their parents, only saying thank you when the two women scolded them for being so rude. You smiled and gave a small wave to the mothers and shut the door. The red plastic bowl for the candy now sat empty by the front door table. 

"Sorry, no more candy." You muttered to yourself, flipping the switch to the light on the front porch. It was darker outside than you thought but you didn't want kids expecting candy come to the door. 

After a snack and some juice enjoyed in silence, or rather to the serenade of crickets and what little children or teens still lingered on the quiet streets of Haddonfield, you refill the glass and made the begrudging journey back to the books. But little complaining was done when you considered the alternative. Another half-hour of work passed you by and when your glass of juice revealed itself to be empty, your thirst won out and you trekked back to the kitchen. 

It would have been normal if the back door hadn't been open. When you turned to find the source of the chill creeping up your legs you found the back door ajar, letting in the cool air. A stint of fear shot through your veins until the wind shut it back closed in a violent bang. The wind might have blown it open, you rationalized in silent contemplation. The wind is often to blame. Your father used to say that about the noises in your house so you figured it must be the cause. It's always the cause. 

Quietly padding to the slamming door, you wondered how long this had been going on. You hadn't heard it earlier when the TV was on and even after that. So when exactly did the wind begin to blow open your backdoor? A quick peek into the backyard didn't answer any questions and only worked against you, ranking up your fear. The darkness crowded around the bleak circle of light the backyard lights emitted and stretched back to the trees lining the fence and even further after that. You shivered and huddled into the comfort of home, locking the door securely. Making sure to be deliberate. If it happened again, then you should be fearful. 

When you had finally made it back upstairs after your little backdoor scare, your homework greeted you like a solemn reminder: due tomorrow. With a weak plop into the desk chair, you grabbed a pen and continued where you left off. But thoughts about the backdoor snuck up on you. For the life of you, you couldn't pinpoint a certain moment; besides when you walked into the kitchen, where you could remember the sound of the backdoor banging on the now battered wall. You shake your head, your logical self trying its best to keep you on track.

'It was just the wind, mom and dad probably just forgot to lock it'. 

Momentary placation drove your brain back into work, scribbling notes to distract. To calm. Notes were calming in the place of the implications your wide-open back door held over you. 

One more half-hour. 11:03 p.m. glowed on your alarm clock. One more hour before your alarm would go off, demanding you go to bed. Groggy mornings would be the death of you. The phone makes you jump and you sigh again before trotting downstairs. You answer the phone, plucking it off the wall. 

"Hello?" You answered tiredly, emphasizing how much you disliked being startled. 

"Ohh, honey, we were just- stop that!" Raucous giggling and party chatter streamed through the phone. You rolled your eyes. 

"We called to ask you how you were doing? Hard at work, I hope. My hardworking baby." your mom cooed and you simply set your mouth in a line. So hard at work. Working so hard. 

"Yeah, mom when are you coming home?"

"Your father and I will be home in an hour. There's an afterparty! How exclusive is that? I feel like a celebrity; like I won an Oscar!" you rolled your eyes, that one a little more meaningful "Afterparty…” your mom sighed wistfully as if her quaint office party compared to an Oscars afterparty. 

"Ok, well just get home safe. You worked out who's driving ?" 

"So responsible. Yes, yes we have all that worked out." She whispered to someone else nearby and she gave a quick 'love you, bye!' Before hanging up. Hm. you lingered at the phone for a while, putting it back on the hook delicately, the 'clack' sound soothing in a strange sort of way. Then something much less comforting echoed through the barren lonely wasteland that was your house. 

A creak.

You stilled. It was not you and that you were sure of. You hadn't moved and even if you did, you know exactly where each creaky floorboard in your house is. There isn't one by the phone. 

'Old bones' grandpa would say. 

'What an imagination on you! The things you'll do with it!' your mom would say.

'The wind' dad would say in that gruff tone he had when he was busy. 

With all of those reminders, you couldn't be sure. Was there someone in your house? Your friends did mention the local psycho killer and his October shenanigans. Some sort of escaped mental patient. But that was a local legend. He spent his Halloweens in a cell. 

Then other, less silly options came to mind. Robbers, realistic killers, the Ted Bundy kind. The ones who were less legend and more substance. More manipulative than a faceless shape peeking from the shadows. 

"Imagination" you rationalized. All those work hours were taking their toll. The words whirled around and finally sleep called. 

But when you think about it, you weren't so tired. Not sleepy. Only worried. The backdoor banging against the wall and now this ominous creak were like a storm on the horizon. When you really think about it, you want to leave. 

'Silly, silly.' you thought. This is your home. The safest place you know. Your room has a lock. And so do the windows. Nothing to be afraid of, surrounded by the safe and secure interior of the house you grew up in. 

Thus began the slow cycle around your warm, familiar home. Every window and door leading directly outside was closed and locked up for the night. Locked tight and double-checked. All the dark corners and closets were searched and you finally felt like you could sit without feeling imaginary eyes burning holes into the back of your neck. Every door was closed as to alert you if you saw one open and you finally settled in. 

Your nightly routine brought its comfort in that it was ritualistic. It repeats every night and you do it without fail. Brush teeth, clean and wash face, comb hair, prep hair, change clothes, old clothes in the hamper, open stupid shower curtains, dry face with a towel if still wet, plan out next days outfit, Put away books...

Each book found its place in your bookbag and it was placed by your room door for easy takeaway. and finally, the usual glass of water. the same glass with water from the gallon and chilled just how you liked it. No matter what mom and dad say about your strange habits, the glass of water was necessary. It just was. 

The stairs didn't so much as creak as you crept down them, thankful you didn't turn off all the lights. You filled your glass and slowly made your way up to your room. 

A noise, just behind, well not just but somewhere behind you. You whipped around, expecting to see the shadow of something that meant you harm but you didn't see anything. When you turned back around you could see it. That something that meant you harm. Your throat went dry and your heart stopped. 

At the top of the stairs was the tallest man you'd ever seen, wielding a giant kitchen knife and wearing dark blue coveralls. His shadow fell over your face and you couldn't even think to run. The black holes cut in his white mask seemed viscous, like a bird of prey. Watching, waiting, timing, capturing. You were sure that you were the rabbit in this situation. Sure to end up the hawks meal. Or perhaps the owl as he tilted his head at you. He descended a step and you followed suit, taking a step back, trembling hands dripping water from the glass that might just cost you your life or save it.

You tossed the glass at him, hitting him square in the forearm he raised to fend off the clear shattered remains and you took the opportunity to bolt. He didn't give chase but you knew he wouldn't just let you leave. That's not the endgame. Not for him anyway. The pantry called you, but first, you had to lead him astray. The pantry was the most obvious choice. In the movies, that's how all the dummies die. Grabbing a chair from the dining table, you tossed it into the window and then hastily dashed into the pantry. 

This was a mistake. But only if you made it that way. Surrounded by crinkling bags and carefully stacked boxes, absolutely no movement could be made. Not if you wanted to get away with your life.

The heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs. Creaking on every step, it had never occurred to you that you might be more nimble than your killer, or your killer would be heavier than your dad. The crunch of broken glass from afar signaled the glass you threw. 

He passed over it, unfazed and you cover your mouth, afraid even the slightest breath would tell him where you were hiding. He was the local legend after all. You tried to pretend this was extreme hide and seek. Having your life on the line, however, seemed to make you sweat bullets. 

The crunch of glass closer to your hiding place tells you he's inspecting the window. Will he fall for it? You hope so. You're not sure if it will give an opening for you to call the police. 

Sure enough, you hear him grunt and his feet land on the earth outside your home. How long ago was it that you called your mom? 

Slowly, you crawled to the dining table, closing the pantry door snail slow behind you. The phone taunted you from the hook it was placed on. So close, yet so far. You slowly rose to a crouch, and just as he seemed to turn back into the house, your ruse not fooling him for long, you had already bunched yourself into a ball behind the couch making intense eye contact with your phone. He vaulted the window, heavy workman's boots creaking the hardwood floor underneath the window that would draw the eye to your dad's shiny old Cadillac. You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Tears don't help you escape. 

He lowered himself to peek under the dining room table and you took the chance to move to the other couch, still out of his view. Gaining courage, you peek to see him slam open the pantry door. You shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn't fallen for your little trick. While he was distracted, you took the chance to move quickly as possible to the phone, not quite in his line of sight but you're hoping he'll choose the basement. You're praying, hoping he'll investigate the basement but he spots the backdoor. Locked. You kicked yourself. If it was unlocked, he might have assumed. He crept towards where you were hiding but by some miracle he stops, waits. An alarm. Midnight. He stalks towards the sound like a man possessed. Your precise ways have saved your life again. You set the alarm in case you got sidetracked so that it would remind you to go to bed. With some quick thinking, you manage to slip into the curtains and he stomps up the stairs before it becomes quiet. he only lets you hear him when he wants to be heard. You exit the closet and pick up the phone dialing the police. 

"I swear to god if that's you again you little punk- "

"Listen to me. There is a man in the house wearing a mask. My address is 569 Garrison ave. if you don't come now, I will die." Your breath hitches at the need to cry but you soak it up. He can't hear you. Not if you want to live. "Please. Send someone. Goodbye." You rushed that but it was obvious the police have been receiving prank calls. You hoped he wouldn't write you off as another prank caller. 

The man is still looking for you upstairs. You're not sure if he's still busy with the alarm clock. You creep away from the phone on your way to the front door. 

Your escape isn't hasty enough. You should know better by now. He is a predator. He watches. Waits. Strikes. A barreling force pins you to the wall by your shoulders, the pain shooting into your scapulas. You whimper in response and he closes in, seeming to revel in your little noise. You wonder if you had chosen to run to the door, would he have still caught you?

"What do you want?" You pant out.

"I didn't do anything!" you wiggle and struggle but his brute strength surpasses your academic homebody. You are no match. His face is so close, you can hear the heavy breathing. 

Inhale. You test his grip on you. 

Exhale. He doesn't falter.

Then he leans in. Too close for comfort, you think and you cry out as you realize he is feeling you. Studying you. Squeezing and sniffing. Consuming. He raises the strange mask to his nose, before licking the sweat accumulating at your neck. You wished you had seen his face. You hoped he wasn't some extreme pervert.

He tilts his head in curiosity. He's starting at you, right in your eyes. He pulls his mask down and grabs your throat and you wince at the thought. He's gonna choke you to death.

Sirens drown out your little struggles and whines to be set free. He turns, bathed in the flashing, then bends down to pick you up by the waist, folding you over his shoulder. 

"No! Stop!" He squeezes your thigh with an iron grip. A warning. Silent tears slip past your shut eyelids. You're forced to do nothing while the police bang on your door. 

"Open up, police!"

'So stupid. You locked yourself inside with him.' You sob into the blue fabric of his coveralls, soundlessly disappearing out the backdoor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this piece of shit I wrote :)


End file.
